CHAPTER 19: SHADOWS OF WAR
Eldron laid the sharpening stone to the side on his desk, held the sword he’d been sharpening in the light and eyed its keen edge. The blade was an ancient weapon, carried by commanders at the close of the last Kel Dynasty, symbol of their warrior heritage, and he’d taken to keeping a replica on display in his quarters. It served to remind him of their ancient past, the prime of the Kel, when the Combine ruled many worlds and his proud race was unified in a quest for empire, before the great collapse, the Wars and the catastrophe that ended that glory. The Kel race nearly wiped itself out back then. In the end, though, they held on, too stubborn to fail utterly, salvaged what bits of their own legacy they could and clawed their way back. Now here they were, rising from the dust, seizing new territory for the first time in a thousand years, and Eldron could not shake the unsettling feeling that they were losing ground, not gaining it.
He stood and took the sword to its mount on the wall.
It was the whole state of affairs. Cee Ranok and her Forever Dynasty, her successful power grab long ago and the way things had been headed, even before the discovery of Kang and the device, followed by their trip to this world, Earth, on the trail, once more, of empire. There was something about it, an intangible, the direction of the Tremarch’s insistence in so many things that soured the stomach. A subtlety of disagreement. And Eldron was not the only one. Others, within the command hierarchy and without, following along as any good Kel should, honoring the warrior way, respecting their leadership, all the while doubting. Rumblings of the Prophecy didn’t help.
Already that was escalating back on Kel.
Then there was the recent debacle with the superhuman, Horus, that incident and the friction it laid bare. In many ways it was an intensity of everything that was wrong with the regime. Right there, in one event, one brief span of time, an encapsulation of where the Kel were headed.
Ruin.
Collapse, once more, if they didn’t correct their path. Eldron could feel it. Things were happening, there was something in play he could not put his finger on but which he sensed, and if things kept heading the way they were the Kel would fall.
His console signaled.
“Eldron,” he acknowledged.
“Voltan here,” the voice on the other end announced, and Eldron stood a little more rigid. Voltan’s voice was crisp. “Put me on video.”
Eldron did. Voltan flickered onto the screen, commanding visage, eye-patch enhancing rather than diminishing that powerful presence. His commander was a warrior above all else.
“Yes, lord?” The call was unexpected.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Voltan’s next words were a complete shock.
“Tell me what you know of the Prophecy.”
**
Inside the Necrops was as terrifying as the legends described. Dark, towering structures, bent and leaning, overgrown with the ages, deep shadows across every street and alley. It had been raining the last two days and Galfar feared terrible things were afoot. War was brewing.
After the meeting out on the plains, with Cheops and the Fist, during which nothing more useful was said and, in fact, tensions rose, Arclyss elected to withdraw, deeming any alliance with the Fist a failed hope. In a moment that almost lead to war right there, Galfar chose to go with him. Of course that sent ripples of resistance through the muscled warriors, feints along the front line barely restrained and a near physical effort to stop his defection. But he was going, and astride the mighty Erius he crossed to the other side. In that moment of confusion Haz chose to stay with him, almost an automatic reaction, and together they joined Arclyss and the Scourge and went with them back to the decaying depths of their lair.
Galfar himself had been unsure. Yet he went. Doubtful though he was, the conviction that came over him in that moment was strong and still with him. And so they’d been biding their time in a new sort of prison, no different than the castle in terms of their freedom, much different in its comforts and amenities.
The Scourge themselves took getting used to. The quarters Arclyss provided were at least staffed by the more human among them.
As yet Arclyss and Galfar had spoken little. Only on the ride back, and then only barely. Arclyss chose to accommodate Galfar’s decision with no question, letting he and Haz join them and return. Once he made his move out there on the open plain Galfar feared Arclyss would reject them, leaving them to the punishment of the Fist, yet found himself unreasonably drawn to the ebon giant, curious at his history and what else he might know, determined to be part of the making of their collective future. In Galfar’s mind the Brotherhood of the Fist were finished, nothing else to be learned or gained and, if their close-minded attitudes held, nothing else to be done. After the standoff it was clear their vision was limited. Arclyss, on the other hand, offered hope.
And so Galfar went, hoping to learn more of what happened to Jessica and, his greatest wish, to be there when she returned.
He looked up as the door to the small, cold room opened and Haz walked in. Galfar noticed his son was slouching more than usual, looking listless. Haz was suffering the worst from this decision. Unlike the castle there were absolutely no girls or in fact anyone to socialize with. On top of that his guitar was back there. He had nothing. Haz was a growing boy with boundless energy and here in this bleak setting was already bored out of his mind.
To keep himself sane he’d been striking out on explorations of the Necrops. Reporting back to Galfar on what he found; Galfar, who had no energy for his own explorations. Not any that ventured far, at least, the Necrops so impressively huge, broken structures and collapsing buildings that went on for miles.
“Anything interesting?” Galfar asked. Haz was wet, he’d probably been out in the rain and, as he shrugged in response, Galfar realized the listlessness was something else. A sort of ... hollowness. Like Haz was lost.
“I went up the highest tower,” he said. “The one I told you about. The tallest of the ones still standing.” Haz had expressed his own brand of interest in scaling the rotting structures. “The view goes far,” he shook his head. “So much higher even than the castle. I could actually see the castle. From all the way here. Over the hills and all the way to the mountains. It’s tiny that far away but you can see it.” For a long moment he was lost in thought. Then: “Who lived here?” He looked directly at his father. “I mean, these people, the Scourge, this isn’t theirs. They didn’t make these buildings. Arclyss, maybe, but who else? Were there more like him?”
Galfar wished he had answers. He himself had been struggling with the evidence all around. He’d always known the legends, of the ancients, the race of the priestess, from her time and the incredible things that went on then. There was now no question this Necrops had been one of their “cities”, but how god-like! What must it have been to behold during its prime?
“It wasn’t made by them, no.” He leaned on his staff, happy to have a discussion with his son on a topic about which neither knew anything. “This city is from the time of the priestess, and it was no doubt ruined during the Wars.”
Unexpectedly the door opened and they both turned. An old lady entered; the one who brought their food each day, the same one they saw every day, on a schedule, only this time she had no tray. She was smiling her usual, toothy grin, a vacant look on her face, looking far more pleased to see them than Galfar thought anyone possibly could. In the face of her constant, ecstatic expression he’d been chalking it up to some sort of dementia, like she wasn’t fully there. Attempts to talk to her, even through the mind—which almost always got a reaction in others, even if they couldn’t understand or speak back—led to nothing.
Now here she was, no tray, looking at them eagerly. Galfar waited, until it became clear she wanted them to follow. He rose. When he’d gripped his walking stick and was steady she started out, adjusting her pace to something he could match. He nodded to Haz
and his son tagged along and together they followed through the dingy mazes, first the structure housing their quarters, a massive, sprawling affair, then out into the perpetual drizzle and into the winding alleys and streets, strewn with debris such that they, too, were like a catacomb. Figures watched from the shadows as they passed, inhuman smells and sounds, clicks and gurgles, low growls and frightening half-images that served only to maintain the nightmare. The further they progressed the more Galfar admired his son for ever striking out so far from the relative safety of their quarters. The city in that vicinity only grew more ominous as they went, and he knew Haz had gone far and wide, exploring, scaling the great towers from within, driven by a desire to learn this strange place and, more to the point, to have something to do. That he’d learned to ignore the threatening overtones all around was impressive.
But Haz had no doubt come to realize, as Galfar had, that Arclyss meant them no harm. By default, then, neither did his vast horde. They watched, they maintained their deadly visages, but there was no real danger. In fact, the further they walked on this little excursion, the more Galfar thought on it—as he had been off and on now for days—the more he wondered if the horde was truly dangerous at all. Mindless, perhaps, dangerous therefore, but not truly of an urge for mayhem. Certainly not the “evil” they were made out to be.
The legends were, as suspected, proving false.
Soon they reached an area of the city that was mostly free of debris; an orderly sort of ruin, everything still ancient and in disrepair, but at least organized and clean. A giant, square building that covered an entire block was their destination, not a tower like the others but still a goliath; half-a-dozen floors or so in height and relatively intact, despite its age and the violent history of that place, and as they walked across a wide convergence of roads that led to it Galfar knew this must once have been an important centerpiece of the ancient city. It looked to be the place Arclyss had chosen to make his seat of control.
No guard waited at the entrance, but then why would there be? There was no threat within the bowels of the Necrops. The old lady took them up the steps to the wide front doors, open in waiting—glancing back more frequently now with that outrageously pleased grin, checking that they followed or that they were seeing this or just wanting to look at them. Galfar couldn’t be sure.
Then they were inside. It took a moment to adjust to the cavernous space but Arclyss was there. Standing in wait at the center, a tiny figure in the midst of that great volume. The ceiling of the giant lobby soared three floors overhead, spanning the entire width of the structure, and went so deep it would’ve taken Haz many seconds to sprint to the far wall. Nothing else was in there. Cleared of any furniture or wreckage, it was empty. Holes in the ceiling high above and other signs of damage spoke of what must have been. Galfar noted the floor was dusted. A vast, clean space.
Holding her toothy grin the old lady took them all the way across the expansive distance to Arclyss, Galfar’s stick clacking loudly from the echoing surfaces, and as she stopped and stood beside her master, turning to face them, smile so wide, it brought Arclyss into perspective. Whereas in the huge space he was a tiny figure, up close he most definitely was not. Arclyss was a giant. Unconsciously Galfar held himself straighter as he and Haz stopped and stood.
“Thank you for your patience,” Arclyss said in his deep, rich voice. “There were matters to which I needed attend.”
Galfar gathered his thoughts. “We understand,” he said. “We used the time to think.” Then: “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Arclysses’ gazed dismissed the old lady and she scurried away. He looked down on Galfar and Haz. “Why did you come?” he wanted to know. “Why leave your alliance?”
Galfar still wasn’t sure. “Impulse.” He shrugged. “When I saw you, when I saw the reaction of Cheops and his brothers, I knew then they were not the future.” He decided to be honest. “While you have been portrayed as the enemy, while the tales of you and your kind are horrific, nightmares to scare children and adults alike, I had the sudden sense, out there on the field, that all of that was wrong. That this,” and he gestured to the city around them, “was where our golden age ended long ago. And that, fittingly, it was where it would begin again.” Arclyss lifted his chin in contemplation of that, making him even more regal in the action—if that were possible. Galfar went on: “I saw it in your eyes. When you spoke out on the plain. I knew then you were not the monster you’d been made out to be.
“Quite the contrary. And I knew, then, that you were an ally. To the solution.”
Arclyss stood tall, powerful, absolutely dominating the room though he did not move, holding what abilities Galfar could only guess at. Could the ebon giant direct the same energy mastered by him? Could he talk in the mind? Some other skill, of which Galfar was not aware?
Somehow he had the sense Arclyss could do all that.
The giant raised his gaze higher still, looking off into the invisible distance. “Cheops and his warriors gather.”
Galfar was not entirely surprised by that, nevertheless he felt disheartened to hear confirmation of what he feared.
“On the fields,” said Arclyss, foreboding in his voice. “They surround the city. They are a risk. If they act, they may ruin the chances of our priestess.”
He returned his gaze to Galfar.
“Soon I must ride.”
CHAPTER 20: SUICIDE CABAL
The friction continued. On the way back to the safe house, as news of their child settled and the argument revived. Jess couldn’t put the world on hold just because she was expecting. It didn’t change what she had to do. That plus the fact that, on top of her refusal to change her plans, she would not allow Zac to go with her …
It was more than he could stand. He wanted the Bok too. For what they’d done. For what they did to her.
He fought hard to change her mind.
What she intended wasn’t even an official plan. Not yet. No one else had even heard of it. But for her it was already in motion. So far she’d said nothing to anyone, seeking Zac’s agreement first, which she wasn’t getting, and how it would be received by Drake and the resistance remained to be seen. Their reaction, however, was less important. She was doing this, it was firm in her mind, she saw much of its final form already, but Zac, the most important agreement she did want, just wasn’t buying it.
And so as they walked the streets of the small Scottish town he shared an epiphany. From when he came for her in the Bok castle. Back on that fateful day, when she was standing there, alone, trapped at the center of a dozen pointing guns, nothing he could do to save her, strong enough to bring down the entire castle yet powerless in that moment, and as he watched that terrible scene unfold, helpless …
He saw her.
Really saw her.
An angelic force, he described it, as if unveiling the real her, and in that enlightening flash of insight he knew she must be protected. It was, he claimed, a singular, crystallizing instant in which he realized she had a higher purpose, one that was beyond them, and he saw, suddenly and quite clearly, his role in it. He must do anything within his power to defend her. To make sure she could do what she came to do. He must protect her.
For them all.
For everyone, everywhere, on whatever her journey held, from whatever might stand in her way, that she might fulfill the destiny which he suddenly perceived in its full magnitude and yet could not fathom. How he derived such a lucid, unwavering conclusion she could only imagine. He had no idea either. And as he related it to her on the walk back to the safe house he said he knew then only that she was meant for something greater, and he knew it with absolute conviction. You’re meant for something! he told her, as emphatic now in his belief as he had been then. She was more than him. More than any of them.
She must be helped to continue.
And he, Zac, was her guardian.
When she returned to him, at her house, transformed, bringing fresh epiphanies, sol
idifying impossible realities … he knew he’d been right. As difficult as the scope of the things she told him was to swallow, every impossible thing she said aligned perfectly with what he’d already concluded and he was ready and …
The Kel attacked, and she was gone again. Once more she was gone from him, his duty put on hold.
Now here she was, again, here they were, together, she more determined to continue her purpose than ever, and he was with her, and he was ready, beyond any readiness, at her side, primed to shield her from whatever dangers lay ahead, to see her through the journey as her guardian and …
She meant do it alone.
It made absolutely no sense.
To her either, she admitted. But as badly as she wanted to glue herself to him and never be apart—that impulse was impossible to deny—it didn’t change the fact that she knew what her destiny held. She didn’t want to do it. Events were simply too momentous. She and Zac both must move forward, each of them, on individual paths, he to help the cause, she to do the same, and the answer was clear:
She must go without him. She had unreasonable confidence in her ability to succeed. Zac, in turn, was absolutely critical to the plan Drake’s group had in mind.
But she couldn’t make him see.
Once the Bok were infiltrated, once Jess did what she went to do, with or without Zac—she tried to make this point most strenuously—once the Bok were infiltrated the Kel would shift to whole new levels of alertness. No more surprises. Same with what the resistance had in mind. Once that happened … the Bok and all else would be on high alert. There was, therefore, no way the two operations could happen in sequence. They must happen at the same time.
Star Angel: Prophecy Page 24
